"Jane."
"You're a naughty, cross woman, Jane, and I shan't love you."
"You don't need to," she replied. "Go away!"
But Bertie continued playing with the kitten still laying in her lap. As he stooped his little face over it, his soft, dimpled cheek touched Jane's hand, while his fair, curly hair waved almost across the other. Presently Jane raised her hand, took off his cap and stroked his head gently.
Bertie looked up half surprised. "Do you think it pretty?" he asked.
"I don't know." But she did not take her hand away.
"Would you like to have some of it?" he asked again, as Jane passed her fingers through one of the silky curls. "Cut it. Where's the scissors?"
"There on the table over against the window," she replied.
Bertie ran and fetched them, and presently a curl shiny and bright fell in Jane's lap.
"There, that's my present," he said, "now won't you give me kitty?"